


Samaritan

by Gelid_illuminant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Desperate Ground, Flashbacks, Hurt, Hurt and comfort, M/M, PTSD, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelid_illuminant/pseuds/Gelid_illuminant
Summary: A recovery fic based on boughofawillowtree's Desperate Ground, in which Crowley has a difficult time adjusting to normal life.
Relationships: Aziraphale and Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley and Aziraphale - Relationship
Kudos: 34





	Samaritan

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Desperate Ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657588) by [boughofawillowtree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/pseuds/boughofawillowtree). 



> This is a follow-up to boughofawillowtree's brilliant fic, Desperate Ground! Read it first! https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657588/chapters/49057466

A week and a half of normal life had gone by, and Crowley was ready to let himself believe it. He was going to go for a drive. For the first time in so long, he would be alone with his car. He could surrender to the speed, to the feel of the wheel under his hands. He’d asked Aziraphale if he wanted to come along for the ride, just to be polite, but the angel had the intelligence to refuse. He knew that Crowley wanted to do this by himself. And so, that morning after breakfast, Crowley was ready. He had thankfully left his car keys in the bookshop before they were captured, so the demons had not been able to take them from him. They rested serenely in a little bowl by the door. Aziraphale had made the bowl himself, a long time ago, and given it to Crowley as an Eden anniversary present. 

Presently, Crowley was wrapped around Aziraphale on a couch in the bookshop. They had been in this position for at least an hour, just sitting there and exchanging the occasional kiss. But now it was Bentley time. Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s cheek in parting, and uncurled from his form. He walked across the shop to the bowl by the door. “I’ll be back before you miss me.” He said casually. “I miss you already, serpent.” Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley relished the feel of cold metal as he wrapped his fingers around the keys. He lifted them and let them sit in his hand. They clanked together like…like a…

Crowley threw the keys down on the floor and jumped backwards away from them, crashing into the wall. “Crowley, my dear, what ever is the matter?” Aziraphale was saying, from somewhere far away. Crowley stared down at his keys. “They sounded like…like a reti-retinet…”  
“Oh, how awful! Crowley, I’m sorry…” Hands were on his body. Reaching, grasping. Crowley pushed his assailant away before he realised it was Aziraphale. He watched in horror as the angel slammed backwards into a bookshelf, and the books came down, falling on his head. Aziraphale fell to the floor and rubbed his head, looking up at Crowley with mournful eyes. “Crowley, I-”  
Crowley ran from the building, unlocked his car with a miracle and leapt in. He started the engine with another miracle and sped away.

**

Through the streets of London, the Bentley careened. Crowley had never driven this fast. But he had to get away. Away from the bookshop, away from Aziraphale. Who he had just shoved into a bookshelf. Crowley had hurt Aziraphale. Not on purpose, never on purpose. It had been a moment of blind panic. But that didn’t change the fact that he had hurt Aziraphale. Could even an angel forgive this…this…domestic violence? They had never fought physically before. Never laid hands on each other in anger. Crowley had sworn to himself, over and over, in that dungeon, that he would never hurt Aziraphale. But he had done just that. He really was disgusting. A disgusting, evil, damned little snake who didn’t deserve the grace of an angel. All these thoughts kept circling in Crowley’s head until he couldn’t see. And, distantly, he heard a car horn. Then he felt a crash.

For the first time, he had rear-ended another vehicle.

**

“You bastard! Look what you did to my car!” The man from the other car was yelling at Crowley. Crowley hadn’t gotten out of his own car yet. He was staring straight ahead in shock. He’d damaged his Bentley. He could easily fix it, but it would never feel right again. Just like he’d damaged Aziraphale and could never mend things with him…  
“Listen to me you little shit!” The man was still yelling at him. Crowley heard his words and something inside him, for the second time that morning, snapped. He got out of the car and loomed over the man, snarling. A second later he recoiled, appalled at himself. He sank to the ground and put his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Oh, Satan…” The man just kept on yelling. Crowley felt hot tears on his cheeks. He bit his lip until it hurt badly. How the Heaven was he going to get out of this? How could he ever make it right?

It took him a few moments to realise that the shouting had stopped. Someone was talking gently to the rear-ended man, and then to Crowley. “…and I think they can help you.”  
“What?”  
“I called a crisis counselor. I think they can help you. Will you talk to them?” A youngish woman was holding out a phone to Crowley. She had an imploring look on her face. Crowley didn’t know what a crisis counselor was, but he didn’t want to keep screwing up, so he took the phone. “Hell-hello?” He ventured in a trembling voice. A steady voice came through. “Hello, I’m Francis. You don’t have to say anything, but if you want to tell me your name, then-”  
“Crowley. It’s Crowley. Um. Who…what is a crisis counselor?”

“Crowley, a crisis counselor is someone who talks to people who are going through a bad time, and tries to help out. It’s my job to, hopefully, help you feel more in control. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” Francis’ voice was gentle, and calm, and soothing. Crowley started to sob. “That’s okay, Crowley. Try to take deep breaths. It really helps when you’re feeling overwhelmed.” Francis said, as if they weren’t bothered at all by the crying. Crowley tried hard to take some deep breaths, but it was so hard to commit to. Part of him – a big part – wanted to cry long and hard and loud. Even in front of all these people. It wasn’t that he didn’t care what they thought of him…it’s that the crying almost felt good. It felt like a punishment that he knew he deserved. 

Francis kept talking, ever so gently. “It’s okay. I understand. Sometimes it’s good to cry. You can let it out.” That sounded like something Aziraphale might say. Crowley had never understood how it could be good to cry. It was making him look like a stupid child in front of the gathered strangers. People in their cars were beeping their horns and shouting. Some of the other humans shouted back, telling the drivers to give the ‘poor man’ some space. The tears stung, and he knew his skin would be red and blotchy. His panicked breathing was getting difficult to maintain, but he didn’t want to stop. Somehow, to stop would be like…giving up. But, gradually, his breathing slowed. It was still fast and shallow, but it was better. “That’s good! Now, do you feel like telling me what’s going on?”

“I…um, I crashed my car. Into someone else’s car.” Crowley began. He knew that wasn’t why he was so upset. Of course it wasn’t. It was part of it, particularly with the damage to his Bentley, but it wasn’t the reason. “Oh, dear. Well, these things happen sometimes. It’s an ordinary thing that happens to people. You must feel terribly about it, but remember that it doesn’t make you a bad person.” Francis was saying. Crowley managed a deep breath, and went on. “That’s…that’s not why. Not why I’m…upset. I…”  
“It’s alright, you can tell me. This call is private, Crowley.”  
“…I hurt someone. My…my boyfriend. I pushed him, and he fell over and all these books fell on him and it’s my fault…” 

Crowley started sobbing again. For awhile he couldn’t tell if Francis was talking or not, but then the ringing in his ears subsided and he heard their calming voice again. “Is he badly hurt?” Francis asked. “I don’t think so…”  
“Well, the first thing you should do when you’ve relaxed is find out if he’s hurt.” Francis said, in an almost commanding voice. Almost. Crowley nodded, even though Francis obviously couldn’t see him. “Ye-yeah, I’ll do that…” If he ever talks to me again. “Would you like to tell me how this happened?” Francis asked, more gently. Crowley took some more deep breaths. “I…um. Something happened, and I…remembered it? And I got scared and he went to comfort me and I pushed him away…I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t on purpose…” He was trembling now. Francis replied, “It sounds like something triggered a bad memory. We call that a flashback. It can happen in trauma cases. Do you think that’s what happened, Crowley?”

“Yeah…I guess so…” Crowley had seen flashbacks in movies before, but that wasn’t quite what had happened to him. He had just…felt it. Felt himself back there, in the dungeon, in the sulphur, his wings charred and ruined…  
“It’s not unusual for trauma survivors to experience flashbacks. But there are ways to help. Have you ever heard of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy?” Francis said. Crowley, stupidly, shook his head. “No, no I haven’t.”  
“CBT is a way of challenging unhelpful thinking. It is effective for people with trauma, anxiety, and a whole host of mental health issues. It can help you learn new ways of looking at problems, and new ways of seeing yourself. I can offer you some titbits, but ideally you could be looking at finding a longterm therapist.”

“So…what should I…um, what should I do now?” Crowley asked shyly. He was a bit confused by all this. Francis was gentle, however. “Crowley, I think you should start by forgiving yourself for this incident. Accidents happen. You were having a flashback. While you need to take responsibility for your actions, you can also forgive yourself for making mistakes. Does that make sense?” Crowley wasn’t really sure. “But…how do I forgive myself for something like this?” He asked. Francis was silent for a moment, then they spoke. “Would you forgive your boyfriend if he accidentally hurt you?” Crowley didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”  
“Then, can you forgive yourself for the same thing?”  
“…I guess that…makes sense. But…I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.” Crowley answered. 

“That’s okay. You don’t have to do it right away. What matters is that you take the first step towards healing, and then take another step. I think you would benefit from ongoing counseling, Crowley. That is something I’m not able to offer you. You can call me, between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon on most days. Call Samaritans, at one-one-six, one-two-three. We’re a twenty-four hour helpline so if I’m not here, you can always talk to someone else.”  
“I…thanks, that’s good…” Crowley didn’t really know what to say now. Francis went on. “You seem much calmer now, Crowley. Do you think you’re feeling better?” Crowley thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I think so. I should…probably sort out stuff with the other driver…”  
“That would be good. Thank you for talking with me, Crowley. Remember, my name is Francis, if you want to talk again.”

**

Crowley, despite inventing car insurance, had none, so he paid the driver a lot of money to placate him. He thanked the woman who had called the helpline, apologised to the crowd, got in his car and drove back to the bookshop. Along the way he discreetly miracled the Bentley into its proper shape. He parked outside the shop and gripped the wheel. Aziraphale was an angel. It was in his nature to be forgiving. But this was…huge. Would he understand, or would he bar Crowley from his life forever? Crowley took some deep breaths, steeled himself, and went into the shop.

Aziraphale was sorting through the books that had fallen on him. Most of them had already been returned to their shelf, but he seemed interested in a few more of them. He looked up and smiled sadly when Crowley entered. “Crowley, dear, how are you feeling?”  
“…How am I feeling? It’s you who got…well…” Crowley shuffled his feet and looked away. Aziraphale hummed concernedly. “You do not have to worry about me, Crowley. I’m tougher than I look. And, it wasn’t that bad, anyway.” He set down the books he had been holding and slowly moved closer. He didn’t try to touch Crowley, though he clearly wanted to. “I just want to understand what happened to you just then. Will you tell me?” Why was he so kind? Crowley dared to look at him. Aziraphale’s eyes were full of longing and sadness. Crowley sat on the couch, and Aziraphale sat beside him, still not touching.

Crowley explained as best he could about flashbacks, and what he had experienced. He told Aziraphale about what had happened with the crash, and the phone call. Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Do you think you’ll take the counselor’s suggestion? Get…this therapy thing?” His voice seemed…hopeful? Crowley shrugged. “I’m not sure how it would work, getting that kind of treatment from a human. Maybe, though.” He admitted. Aziraphale smiled slightly. “I’d go, too. I think…I think we both need help. To learn how to cope with…with what happened.”  
“If you go, I’ll go.” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale’s smile broadened. Crowley shyly reached out to take his hand. “Angel…Aziraphale. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already have.”


End file.
